


When Life Gives You Lemons, Fuck Your Sword

by Autobratty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Self Service, Sticky, The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye (IDW), i cant believe i wrote this, masturbating with things you should not be masturbating with, sword-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autobratty/pseuds/Autobratty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just wanted an angsty fic of Drift fucking the Great Sword while thinking of Wing. That's literally all this is<br/>I'm not even sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Life Gives You Lemons, Fuck Your Sword

Drift was bent over the side of his berth, aft in the air, three fingers deep in his valve. He jammed the fingers up as far as he could, gasping as his valve calipers fluttered and cycled down hard against his slick digits. He curled his fingers forward, scraping against oversensitive nodes, and moaned unabashedly as he used his free hand to rub at a finial. Slowly adding a fourth finger, glistening lubricant squelched out from his valve and dripped to the floor, spattering against the plascrete.

It wasn’t enough.

He threw himself onto the berth, frustrated and overheated, hand coated in transfluid. Getting rid of his extra charge like this, lying alone in his habsuite, was absolutely miserable. Being alone, in general, was miserable.

He missed Wing.

Wing would help him out with this. He always did. Wait, no, scratch that - Wing never had to. He always got his pent-up charge out while sparring, and once things had softened between them, become more intimate, the interfacing was never for a simple release. It was always slow and tender, just as much of a dance of giving and taking - sharing - as their sparring was. It was exquisite and almost sacramental, each overload expelling a few more of Drift’s demons.

Masturbating didn’t do any of that for him. And tonight, it wasn’t even doing its proper job of getting rid of his excess energy. Instead, his charge rose higher and higher. He needed something more than his fingers; they weren’t going to cut it. He needed something firmer, longer, thicker. What could he use that would suffice?

Drift let his overbright optics wander around the room until they settled on the wall in front of him, where the Great Sword was neatly mounted on the wall.

Primus, Drift, how can you even think of using that?! That’s - that’s -

That’s what’s going to work.

In an instant, Drift had leapt off the berth, snatched up the sword without a second thought, and was lying back again, optics pressed shut. He clutched the sword tightly, pressing the hilt’s gem to his forehelm as he held it close, cradling it like a lover. If it was true that the Great Swords carried a fraction of their previous owners’ sparks inside of them, perhaps a little bit of Wing was in there, too.

He pressed a chaste kiss to the crystal-blue gem. “I miss you.”

With that, he lowered the sword down even as he trembled, the blade aimed towards the foot of the berth. He aligned the dark steel handle with his valve, whimpering and biting his lip as he rubbed it between his valve folds, slicking the handle with lubricant. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and thrust the butt of the sword into his dripping port.

Drift let out a longing keen, shimmering with want, as he pushed the sword in deeper, imagining that it was Wing’s spike, thick and pristine with red ridges, that rubbed neglected nodes in the most delicious of ways.

“Ngh...Wing…”

He ground down hard against the cold metal, the hilt beginning to heat up in the warm slickness of his valve. “Please...I n-need you…” Oversensitive calipers rippled down the length of the sword, drawing it in deeper, the drenched mesh flexing to allow more room for Drift’s hard, sharp thrusts. As he gripped the handle tighter, he felt the sword crackle to life.

“Oh, fr-AAAAGG!”

Drift cried out as a sharp, singeing overload sang over his systems, his whole frame crackling with charge, his optics shorting out temporarily as he came hard, the hilt of the sword lodged deep in his valve. He drew out the breathtaking overload, grinding the tip of the hilt against his ceiling node, every node in his valve sparked alive and clenching tightly.

He collapsed to his berth, sated and spent, fans whirling to compensate for his heavy intakes. Wincing as he carefully withdrew the sword from his valve, he sat up gingerly to clean off the handle, even exhausted as he was. Drift then flopped back down onto the berth, curling up around the sword in a tender embrace, a few coolant tears spilling from his eyes. He gazed intently into the gem mounted in the Great Sword’s hilt, as if searching for some visible trace of Wing somewhere deep within it - but, of course, all that he saw was his own worn expression, his own damp and downtrodden optics staring back at him.

Drift sighed and closed his eyes, cradling the sword against his broad chassis. “I miss you so much.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I don't know what you were expecting honestly  
> Meet me in the pit for a signed copy of this fic  
> (Also for anyone worried, this is my new AO3 account, if you liked, bookmarked or commented on the other version of this fic, feel free to do so here because I will be deleting the old one!)


End file.
